


Signal 99

by feastingwithpanthers



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-13 22:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feastingwithpanthers/pseuds/feastingwithpanthers
Summary: Will Graham is a newly-hired fireman/paramedic in Baltimore City. Hannibal Lecter is a physician at Johns Hopkins Hospital. Will has some secrets and Hannibal does too.





	

It’s been twenty-two weeks.

There’s a flat call to attention followed by a unison of feet. Right face is ordered. The room is heavy, made up of a divide of recycled Sunday’s best and business-ware and pressed uniforms and inexpression. _March_. The commands are for the audience; they’d practiced this a dozen times.

It’s been twenty-two weeks.

And today is graduation.

Baltimore City wasn’t the intended destination, but jobs are difficult in this profession and Will was lucky to have landed the position. Or so he was told. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to be when he grew up but the fire department was where stood today. And today was the day, the culmination of twenty-two weeks of academy, in house training. Twenty-two weeks of learning ‘the greatest job in the world’ and Will was just as unsure of it now as he was when he was accepted.

They were lined up in perfect straight lines, poised by the small stairway. Quiet, reserved. Ready. Rollcall was the last thing connecting them to recruit status.

“Firefighter/paramedic, William Graham." 

There was muffled applause, polite, but to Will it just sounded like pity.

The chief of the department, city mayor and other select members of the department created their own small line up on the auditorium stage. It was his turn. Will ascended the stairs, standing face-to-face with the most important member of the department: the chief. Older, like they always are, his age was masked by a strong handshake that Will had difficulty reciprocating. ‘Congratulations,’ quiet, genuine, and Will stood still with eyes averted as if he was pinned. This was the defining point; the transition to the rest of forever, or at least as far as the department is concerned.

Will continued down the line, shaking more hands and avoiding more eye contact until time for descent from the stage and away from all of this.

\----

“Alright, everyone. I know you all want to get out of here, but make sure you check the list posted in the hallway for your assignments. Some of you report tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Replied, in unison.

The rest of the graduation was to be expected. Speeches and commendations and pomp and grandeur. Now all that was left was dressing down, or at least out of the suits they were required to wear. ‘Class A’s’ they were called, uniform dark navy suits adorned with the department badge on the shoulder and pins on the collar discerning rank.

Will slid out of the heavy wool jacket and carefully folded it onto the back of a chair. The men were occupying one of the classrooms they had previously learned in, now transformed into makeshift fitting rooms.

Everything was changing.

“Did you see where they sent you, Graham?”

 _‘This is the paramilitary,’_ they were told. Formalities. Last names.

Will shook his head. It was Mason Verger. He was generally ill-received by the rest of the class, staff included. It was a surprise to them all when he made it to the end. He was filed in Will’s folder of people to avoid more so than normal.

Mason regarded him curiously, his expression contorting gleefully. He smirked. Mason’s smile was something Will be happy enough to never see again.

“Engine 59. Real shit hole, enjoy.”                

Will wasn’t entirely sure what that meant. He wasn’t local, or even too familiar with the city in general, but he was aware there were good and there were bad parts of town.

It didn’t really matter.

Will shrugged him off, returning to dressing down.

The room was alive with back-and-forths, with ‘I’m so glad to be finally being done with this fucking place’ and where the after party was going to be. Will undid his tie, draped it over his coat, changed out of the shiny formal shows in exchange for work boots. Everything placed orderly and neat.

Everyone had multiple bags. They had to clean out their lockers, take home any remaining uniforms and personal items and their gear. Everyone got a full set of firefighting attire, ‘turn out gear; they were told to call it, and they were told to care for it like their life depending on it. Because it did. Will managed to consolidate everything to just a backpack and he was left with that and the large, department-issue duffel bag. ‘Where ever you go, your bag goes’ they told them in academy, accountability. ‘If you can’t keep track of your equipment, how are you supposed to keep track of each other?’

The bag was heavy, fifty odd pounds of equipment packed inside it. Emblazoned on the side below the ‘BCFD’ insignia was Will’s employee number. He let his fingers slide along each digit.

Ready, he gathered his things and made a turn out to check on his assignment. 

The women of the academy, a very small handful, dressed in the room across the hall. Beverly Katz was one of the few standing by the list. She regarded Will warmly.

Will decided early on she was alright.

“Engine 59, huh?” She asked, still dressed in full uniform, hair tied back. 

 _Must be true_. Will turned, found his name and sure enough they were right.

“I report tomorrow.” Will realized, seeing the date for his first shift in.

Beverly’s eyes were kind and she placed a hand on Will’s upper arm, gave a soft touch. “That’s rough. Are you excited?”

Will answered in a shrug. He still wasn’t sure about anything besides wanting to get back home to prepare for tomorrow. He took a step back to disengage from the conversation and the contact, but Beverly persisted.

“Was your family able to make it?”

And there it was.

Will shook his head and looked past her and her change of expression. The urge to extricate became overwhelming. She started to say something else, most likely an apology, but Will excused himself politely, saying he really had to go.

He didn’t want her apology. He didn’t need their pity.

If the graduation wasn’t required, he most likely wouldn’t have come. There was a sea of people clustered in that hot auditorium and not a single one was there for him. He spent twenty-two weeks with Verger and Katz and everyone else; he didn’t need a graduation. Graduation is for people involved vicariously. And he just didn’t have that.

He made his peace with it a long time ago.

Once finally outside, he placed both bags in the trunk of his car, struggling to get them to both fit. Will then slid into the driver’s seat, wondering just what he was getting into this time.

Now or never, he reasoned, looking down at the time. It was nearing five thirty and although not the most opportune time to hit the road, he really had to get going. Will sighed, readying for the hour drive back to Virginia, readying to be thrown to the wolves at a station with a reputation and a new group of people he wasn’t sure he wanted to meet.

\----

Morning relief is at six AM, that means Will’s alarm goes off at four.

It’s complete darkness until he turns on the tableside light on his night stand and even then, it illuminates just enough so he can see in front of his face. The farm house is quiet and it isn’t until he sets both feet on the floor that he hears a faint rustle in the sheets, reminding him he isn’t alone.

 “Good morning to you too.” Will says softly, face all the sudden full of hair and kisses.

Winston is always first for greetings, despite being the most recent addition, then the other six take their turns. It’s all hopping paws and erratic tails and Will wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

The rest of the morning becomes routine; shower, forever tired eyes looking back in the fogged-up bathroom mirror. Small breakfast at his even smaller kitchen table, newspaper page flipping in the background. Will has a decided order for most things in his life and there’s comfort in its sequence, something picked up in academy. 

_‘So is it an OCD thing or are you like, full retard?’_

_Will didn’t remember who said it exactly, but it was someone aligned with Verger and it was during ladder deployment drills. Will had his prescribed order for picking up the steel frame ladder from the ground and getting it to his shoulder for positioning. Sometimes he said things out loud to himself so he was hardly surprised when someone took notice._

_Hazing wasn’t entirely new to Will and honestly the comment didn’t rub him enough in any way to seep under his skin, but he was a good bit older than most of the other recruits. And his quiet demeanor only masked his waning tolerance so much._

_‘It’s more an Asperger thing.’_

_The honesty of his response took the other recruit off guard, both hands now raised palm forward to Will in hopes of discontinuance. Belatedly, the instructor took notice and redirected their attention. Will stepped back and began to break from the group a little more and more._

Will catches himself at the table and presses his palms along the front of his shirt, smoothing out any invisible wrinkles. He checks his watch.

“Ok, guys, outside. I gotta go.”

The pack perks up, toenails on the old tile floor sounding like tiny tap shoes. Will holds open the screen door to the fenceless yard and the group runs out, making a direct line to the lone tree in front of the house. Looking out, there’s nothing for miles and Will wouldn’t trade that either. It’s a marked departure from the urban jungle of Baltimore so it’s almost funny that’s where he ended up.

Luck of the draw.

Will wrangles everyone back inside, makes sure there is ample food and water before saying seven individual good byes.

He checks his watch, gathers his things, and estimates if he leaves now, he should have at least an hour of quiet time in his car before he has to officially report.

\----

The quarters of Engine 59 were nestled off a main thoroughfare in central Baltimore City, sandwiched between what Captain Jack Crawford described as a ‘dilapidated crack-house’ and an abandoned Sunoco station.

Will understood what Verger and Katz meant; it _was_ a shit hole.

“A shadow of its former glory, but it gets the job done.” Jack continued, giving Will a quick tour. His hand pounded on the masonry of the wall. The outside of station was sad, if Will had to describe it. Old brick in disrepair, moldings and other adornments worn from the weather. Broken down. 

Captain Jack Crawford, or just Jack as he explained to Will on introduction, was well respected within the department. He’d invested some twenty plus years to fighting fire and seemed like he enjoyed every bit of it. Will found him hard not to gravitate toward, his energy commendable.

Will decided to disregard appearances and wandering if perhaps he was secretly lucky.

“You’re on my shift, C shift.” Jack’s voice was commanding, but even, like somebody’s dad. Will wondered if he had any children of his own, besides the guys on the fire truck. “You made the mistake of getting your medic, so you’ll spend your probation split between the ambulance and the engine.”

Across the street from the station stood a daunting line of rowhouses, stoops cracked, detached from the rest of the house. Windows blacked out. These were people’s houses and there were children playing in the street.

They made their way inside, passing under one of the two open bay doors that separated them from the outside. Brick and sheet metal.

The interior wasn’t much better; the engine and accompanying ambulance taking over most of the floor space, red and white and awaiting their next run. Parts of the ceiling hung down, exposing scaffolding and electrical wiring. The tiling that made up the floor was pulled up in places, crudely drawn circles outlining ‘trip hazards’. Behind the bays, where the apparatus parked, was an old set of couches with a TV. Beyond that was a washer and dryer and spiral stair case.

Jack brushed past Will, telling him everyone else was upstairs in the kitchen and TV room, “Come on.”

This place was the real deal, inner city department house. Old and probably littered with asbestos and even equipped with functioning fire poles. Will figured if he was going to do it, he might as well get the full experience.

He followed Jack up the staircase which led into a small room, then the kitchen.  

More people, more introductions.

“Alright everyone, this is Will Graham. Let’s make him feel at home, alright?”

Will felt small standing beside Jack. Not so much physically, although that was true, and not in a way that made him feel less than. Will felt like he had some impressing to do. He felt enabled, empowered. Comforted.

He felt lucky.

\----

The duration of the shift proceeded without incidence.

Jack was a strategic leader who commanded his platoon well, Will fitting in surprisingly better than he could have imagined. It was a busy, lights and sirens back and forth across the city. Every time they managed to back into the station, the bells for would sound for another call. It was almost pointless. The runs varied but at the same time began to bleed together. Carbon monoxide alarms, medical calls, car accidents and more medicals. The engine was an extension of the ambulance, Jack explained. The call volume was so high, that in order to offset the wait time for ambulances, they’d send an engine to initiate care until a medic unit could arrive.

Some of the guys weren’t pleased about it, ‘salty’ they called it. But it was part of the job. 

Those calls fell on Will’s shoulders as a paramedic, the only one on the engine.

_‘There are levels, ma’am.’ Jack explained earlier to a woman who called 911. Abdominal pain. ‘It’s like doctors versus nurses. We’re the nurses and he’s the doctor; he can do more than us.’ He pointed to Will. One IV and vital signs later, Will was passing along report to the ambulance that had finally come to take her away._

They ran all night, barely an hour of sleep between the four of them comprising the engine crew. Will had apparently displaced some other guy to a different fire house. Jack wasn’t bothered, informing him at some point that night, ‘He was a shit bag anyway,’ before patting him on the back.

Jack sat up front in the engine, the officer they called it. He navigated and was on the radios with dispatch, the connection point between their unit and the rest of the city. Will was the fourth on the engine, of their ‘platoon’. He sat in the back, his responsibility being the lineman. Jack explained it best: ‘You get the hose off the engine and into the fire.’

There was a creep of nervousness at the responsibility in the back of Will’s head, but it never came into fruition. There were no fires. Will wondered if perhaps he really was lucky. He was, however, relieved when six AM finally happened, when it was time for shift change. Will had fallen asleep sitting upright at the kitchen table, waiting for the next run that somehow never came. Jack on the other hand was up and awake, changed into a clean T shirt and jeans.

If jack was fatigued, he didn’t show it.

Jack explained to Will morning routines, that you gave a brief report to the oncoming shift about anything important from the day before. Damaged equipment, injuries, etc., etc. Will could do without the interaction, but would it tolerable with Jack’s assistance.

After giving a quick and awkward report, Will set out to see if Jack had anything else for him. Being the captain, Jack had his own room, separate from the rest of the crew.

Will gave a strong knock to the door. Jack beckoned Will inside.

Jack’s office was small but neatly kept. A desk, shelf and empty bunk made up its contents. There were trophies and pictures framed on the walls. Lots of staged portraits with Jack and other members in the department. Pictures of Jack and a good-looking woman. No children, Will noted, but it appeared Jack was at least married, despite the absence of a wedding ring. It could have been questionable but Will felt he knew better of Jack. He had seen it before. Lots of guys didn’t wear them, degloving hazards. Guys getting their fingers and hands mangled, caught in machinery.

“Yes sir?” Came Will cautiously, a strange worry of disappointment sitting in the bottom of his stomach.

Looking upright from some official looking paperwork, Jack regarded him momentarily from his desk, as if testing to see if Will would crack at the wait. When he didn’t, Jack shook his head, offering a smile. “You did well, keep it up.”

Unexpected.

Will blinked then nodded, fumbling a, “Yes sir, thank you.”

Jack held him a second longer before releasing him, allowing Will to slip out of his office to prepare to leave for the day. Will lingered outside his door once safely outside, feeling an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment in the aftermath. Maybe this was good for him.

He shuffled his anxieties in the back of his mind, returning downstairs to finish putting away his gear. Wrangling up his equipment, everything accounted for, he put his things in his appointed locker. Jack had shown him earlier, their lockers next to each other. Will clicked the lock shut in the handle, ‘Graham, Will’ written on a strip of masking tape dead center of the locker.

Like everyone else’s.

It almost made him smile.

He finished rounding up his personal items, not many, a rucksack with toiletries and other essentials for extended away-from-home-living when he decided himself ready enough for the ride back. Besides Jack still upstairs, the new crew was on board and unfamiliar. Will was halfway out the door when one of the other guys called out to him, “You didn’t think you were gonna get out of here with an Irish goodbye like that, did ya?”

Will wasn’t sure how to react, something of an uneasy laugh escaping him. That was his M.O., his preferred exit strategy. He waved it off, placating the other man with a small apology with a goodbye before excusing himself to his car. He was embarrassed, replaying the interaction in the safety of his vehicle.

All the pride from Jack’s words receded from the focus of his consciousness until he was left with feelings he wasn’t ready to combat. He sighed, gripping the steering wheel after turning on the ignition.

This was going to be good for him.

\----

The decision to move to Wolf Trap wasn’t one grounded in careful thought; it just kind of happened.

The house was cheap and secluded, plenty of land and plenty of space. Will met the realtor for coffee, he remembered, the first time he was shown the house. ‘Now I have to warn you…’ the realtor told him at least a dozen times, apologizing for the state of the property, rattling off all the pros and cons it had to offer.

When they finally pulled in, the realtor turned to him, flashing a remorseful smile before heading it. It was small and it was old. The realtor continued being apologetic, repeating how it was a ‘hidden gem’ with a ‘generous plot’, shuffling Will around from room to room.

Will didn’t pay him much attention, happy enough with the tiny house.

He put an offer in then and there.

The rest was history and the next link in his timeline of travels. He rented previously, traversing from the south to the Midwest before ending up in Virginia. There wasn’t anything or anyone that caused him to drop anchor, but after the turn of events of getting picked up in Baltimore, he had to wonder if it had been predestined.

Then came the dogs.

The story between the seven of them was relatively the same; strays. Each one was found wandering somewhere nearby, Will unable to leave them on their own. In his previous lives, he never stayed put long enough for any sustainable relationships, which he rationalized taking on the group as making up for lost time.

There was Heidee and Buster and then before he knew it, Will had six but Winston was lonely wandering down the road one night so he settled on seven. And it’s been them versus everything ever since.

Besides the pack, there wasn’t much furnishing the farm house. Inside the modest two-story rancher was little more than bare bones living. Bed, dresser, couch, kitchen table with two chairs. Any furniture he had served some utility, there was little need for anything more. He had a TV but never bothered with cable but did manage to sign on for internet and had a decent enough computer.

Which reminded him.

Freshly showered, uniform pressed, Will sat on the edge of the bed, powering on his laptop. As it loaded, there was a crescendo of an unfamiliar sound; his cell phone ringing. Winston’s ears perked up like satellite dishes.

Will grabbed his phone from the small night stand by his bed, swiped the touch screen and pressed the phone to his ear.

“Hey, you up?” It was Beverly. 

Normally the inanity of the question would be frustrating, but from her it was tolerable.

“Yeah.” Easy enough.

He settled on top the bed again, Winston quick to jump up and join him, walking himself into a circle before settling down. Will’s hand found his way to ruffle Winston’s head, earning him a trusting and tired yawn.

“How was it?”

Picking his words at just how to answer; he still wasn’t entirely sure. Trying, “It was good. I think it’s a good house. Good crew.”

She seemed satisfied enough, a small laugh echoing through the phone line. “That’s… good. You’re pretty much in the thick of things…” She trailed off, Will leaning back in bed. There was normally a purpose to Beverly’s conversations and she very seldom disappointed.

“Ok, I know it’s late but hear me out really quick.” Will instinctively readied to get out of whatever Beverly was going to try to involve him in. “…But a bunch of our class that’s off is going to try to meet up to celebrate this Friday. I checked the schedule so I know you’re off.”

“I don’t-“ Will started, but Beverly was too quick.

“Whatever you can do. At least give it a day’s thought before you flat out say no.” No one could say she wasn’t tenacious.

Will paused, thought about it, unable to formulate a good enough excuse.

“Ok.”

Pleased, Beverly was true to her word and not one to pursue purposeless small talk. She wished him a good night and reminded him about the weekend before getting off the line. Will made sure to plug his phone in for the night, returning it to the nightstand tabletop. His mind switching tracks, he went back to the laptop which was fully powered on now, starting up his email.

Like the house, Will’s inbox was equally empty. Save for some undeleted spam, an online catalogue from Bass Pro Shop and a few other correspondents, it was mostly void. Clicking on his contacts, Will started a new email. He added a couple lines of text, attaching a picture from graduation. In it was the entire class, posed, standing outside on the entry steps to the old academy building. And there was Will, front and center and easy to identify. A cutout from the newspaper someone uploaded online, Will found himself nursing the tiniest sense of pride.

Encouraged, he clicked ‘send’.

Out of habit, Will scrolled over to the sent folder, opening it up. Winston was asleep now, Will careful not to wake him.

There was a line of messages directed to a particular address, all clearly sent, time stamped and dated. Disappointment. Sometimes he wasn’t sure why he checked; his messages always unanswered.

Consistency, maybe. He didn’t know. Will gave it another look over, the most recent title line clear as day: ‘I graduated, dad.’

\----

Will’s day off came and went, soon finding himself in the early hours of the morning on the Capital Beltway to Baltimore. He knew the traffic patterns well enough to avoid the majority of commuter congestion, preferring to arrive earlier anyway.

It wasn’t surprising that Jack was already there.

“Good morning.” Jack offered, gesturing to a fresh pot of coffee on the kitchen counter. Will accepted, allowing Jack to pour him some in a department-issue mug.

“You’re all the way out in Viriginia, right?”

Will nodded, hesitant to take a seat. There was work to be done.

Jack made a whistling noise, laughing. “More power to you, Graham. I hope you’re well rested for the day,” Jack gestured to another man sitting at the table. He was older and Will didn’t recognize him from the previous. “Today you’ll be working on your paramedic rotation with Price and Zeller.”

As if on cue, the older man stood, reaching out to shake Will’s hand.

“Will, right?” He asked, causing Will to nod. “Jimmy Price, I’m the senior medic. Brian is somewhere, probably checking out the rig.” Jimmy explained. There was a kindness to him that was calming, trustworthy. When Jimmy said it was time to go find Brian, Will followed, coffee in hand, the two heading down the stairs to the unit.

Sure enough, as they descended the stairs the sounds of someone hard at work were audible. So was swearing. The rear doors to ambulance were wide open, a cardboard box thrown out in a fit as the two approached.

“No one every restocks anything here, I don’t understand what they do all day.” It must have been Zeller.

“Brian, we have a third today.” Jimmy called, voice singsong, sticking his head in the door. There was a small shuffling before Brian peeked out. He eyed up Will, the aforementioned ‘third’, the ride along.

“You a medic?”

Again, Will nodded.

Brian sighed, turning to glance over at Jimmy with what could best be described as humor dashed with exasperation. “He has no idea does he?”

Jimmy shook his head, laughing. “None.”

\----

Will was quick to learn, but in Baltimore the call volume was quicker.

By the afternoon, they’d taken at least five people to the hospital, each with various questionable ailments. ‘That’s just Medic 59 for you’ Jimmy had said, the name for the ambulance. As for the calls they ran, there was a ‘my stomach hurts’, a ‘leg pain’ and a young lady who didn’t have much of a complaint at all, ‘just wanted to get checked out.’ It was a departure from the life-saving extravagance produced by Hollywood. Brian said they were a tax-funded Uber.

“It gets to you after a while,” Jimmy started, cleaning off the cot at the hospital after offloading a patient, “But it’s gotta be done. You just can’t let it make you bitter.” Jimmy made a shy gesture over to Brian who at this point was hunched over, typing away on the department computer. They had to write a report per patient, one of the more tedious aspects of the job. Brian’s brow was furrowed and he just looked miserable.

Will’s interactions with Zeller had been mostly short, in stark contrast to Jimmy, who was anything but. Jimmy wasn’t married, no kids and loved his job. He also had been a paramedic for over twelve years and really liked cats, Will learned. He was easy enough to talk to and spent a lot of time showing Will the swing of things. How to use the cot, how to get an IV, how to prepare a bag of IV fluid, how to draw up medication. There was a love for teaching Jimmy conveyed, which for the new paramedic Will was, he found himself drawn to.

It wasn’t the same as how it was with Jack, but Will still counted it as a notch in his favor.

Continuing on, they had decided to split up the shift. For the first twelve hours, Jimmy drove, Will up front, Brian in the back. When six PM happened, they were clearing the hospital and returning to service. Brian switched, sat in the driver’s seat while Jimmy transitioned to the back. Will got on the mobile radio, telling dispatch they were back in service.

“Ok, Medic 59. We got a run for you.” Dispatch advised, earning a grunt of annoyance from Brian. In the front of the ambulance, mounted to the front control panel was a computer, ‘the CAD.’ Jimmy told Will he remembered working when they didn’t have them, relying solely on listening to radios. When the call finalized, the computer alerted, displaying information for the new incident.

“Of course.” Brian, sarcastic.

Will read over the address, Brian saying he knew where it was. Skipping down, Will glanced over the posted information. “Says unknown injury, police on scene. Domestic dispute.” Will had to put on his glasses on to read the smaller font of the computer screen, squinting to make it all out. “Stage for police.”

Jimmy explained the fire department’s relationship with police, saying it wasn’t uncommon to end up waiting in the unit until the police arrived to go into scenes. For safety, Jimmy said. Sometimes it wasn’t uncommon to wait until Police said it was OK.

“Hopefully we’ll be canceled.” Brian, quiet. Hopeful.

Will tapped the button for ‘responding’ on the computer, letting dispatch know they were coming. 

Baltimore was interesting in its composition. There were parts of the city that were immaculately kept, brand new structures and pristine streets. These were the ‘ritzy’ areas, foot police stationed every other block, kept picturesque for tourists. Juxtaposed to these spaces, however, were people’s homes that weren’t as maintained. Broken down row homes, boarded up but still occupied. Projects. Trash in the gutters and people crowded at bus stops. Jimmy said it best: ‘It doesn’t matter; we’re here for whoever calls.’

The address they were responding to, lights and siren, was in the nicer part of town. Buildings whipped by, the sky darkening with the onset of nightfall, Brian precise and measured in his driving. Will removed his glasses, putting them away and slipping on gloves. He pulled out a pair for Brian, leaving them on top the box they had thrown on the dash.

“Should be just around the corner.” Brian mumbled, rounding through the intersection after getting the right of way. They turned into a well-to-do residential area. Nice rowhomes with rooftop decks, tiny little lawns. Brian cut the sirens, there must have been at least four police cars parked.

Brian did a size-up, “Maybe a drug bust or something.”

Then there was the unmistakable sound of gunfire, loud and unexpected. A few houses down, through one of the windows, Will thought he saw flashing. Crosschecking, its address numbers matched the ones that they were dispatched. Brian tensed and Jimmy said something, but Will didn’t hear it.

Silence stretched. Brian put the unit in park and got on the gloves Will had set him aside. Sure enough, an officer came out of the door where Will thought he saw gunfire. He waved one of his arms, yelling something.

“Hey!” There was a pounding at Will’s door, an officer. Will hadn’t even seen the cop come up. He rolled down the window. “We need you guys in there.”

Will turned to look at Brian and he couldn’t imagine what his expression must have read. Brian remembered what it was like to be new, told him to go.

Exiting the vehicle, Brian got on the radio, saying something to dispatch about needing more manpower. Jimmy climbed out of the back, met Will at the side of the unit to grab the essentials: an over-the-shoulder ‘fix-all’ bag and another for oxygen. Jimmy started to tell Will to be ready, an obvious gunshot trauma waiting inside. ‘Control the bleeding’. Will stayed quiet.

“Medics!” Someone yelled, an officer, from the doorway to the dwelling. This time with more urgency.

Will reacted faster than Brian and Jimmy, hoisting the heavy aid bag over his shoulder and heading in. He heard the other two follow suit, grabbing the rest of their equipment before following the sounds of the police inside. He ended up in what appeared to be the kitchen, clean and put together and unassuming.

That’s when Will stopped.

They tell you over and over again, ‘whatever you do, do something.’ But Will froze.

Standing in the entrance way of the open kitchen, Will saw him. He was wedged into the corner on the floor, held up by the cabinets, dead. An older man, older than Will, shot up, blood everywhere. Time slowed down, Will’s heart beat was thumping loud in his head. The police were shouting something but it all felt like slow motion. Purely reactionary, he felt himself look over, eyes shifting to other corner of the room.

That’s when he regained motor function and let the bag fall to the ground. All ready gloved-up, Will dropped to a crawl, kneeing in blood, her blood. Another victim, this one still very much alive.

Young girl, sixteen or seventeen, bleeding out from her neck, crumpling on floor. Will clamped his hand on her throat as tight as he could, making out someone telling him, ‘he slit her throat before we put him down.’

Will tried to quantify the blood loss, unable to do so, instead held tighter.

“Is my dad dead?” Will heard her say, eyes unsteady. Will knew better than to respond, the pieces of the puzzle coming together. He was surprised how intelligible and aware she was, given the situation, given the blood loss. Then came the noises. She started gasping and heaving, blood bubbling into her trachea and coughing out her mouth.

In what felt like forever, Brian and Jimmy bounded in. Jimmy immediately dove into the aid bag, retrieving large trauma dressings, passing them to Will to pad against her neck. Brian was on the radio, telling the engine crew who just arrived to get a backboard and the stretcher ready at the door, that they were bringing out a live one. Out the corner of his eye, Will saw Brian crouch by the man’s body, performing a carotid pulse check then reading off the time from his watch.

Brian pronounced him dead.

“Let’s get her to the rig, now.” Jimmy ordered, all hints of personality dried from his voice.

Will agreed silently. She was small enough Brian and Jimmy were able to lift her, coming up under her shoulders and the other grabbing her legs. Will stayed at her side, stationed with the responsibility of damage control on her neck.

“Move.”

Will did his best to obstruct her vision, forcing her to keep her eyes on him and not her father in the corner. She was young, too young. The trauma dressings had swelled with blood and some was leaking out from under his hand, dripping down his wrist. He could feel her pulses weaken, his increasing. 

Someone from the engine company was holding open the door as they crossed out of the house, the stretcher waiting with a backboard on top. The backboard was precautionary, Jimmy told him earlier, in case she went into cardiac arrest. It was for better traction when performing CPR.

Will pressed harder into her neck.

Cohesively, they got her secured on the stretcher and into the ambulance in no time flat, the ambulance doors shutting behind them as they climbed in the back. “One of the other guys will drive,” Jimmy said quickly, placing an IV in her arm. Sure enough, the driver side door of the ambulance opened and closed, and someone shouted back, “Hopkins?”

The closest hospital.

Jimmy gave an affirmative, getting an IV in her other arm. Protocol. More blood loss, more IVs. Brian had two bags of fluid flushed and ready, attaching them to the IVs in her arms. Fluid replacement. Will felt completely useless, crouching by her side, adding new insulation to her neck for makeshift pressure dressings.

As if sensing his discomfort, Jimmy confirmed, “You’re doing everything you need to,” pause, “Ok, we’re ready, hit it.”

“Got it,” Whoever up front responded, flipping the switch for the sirens and pulling out into the street. Will grabbed onto the stretcher at the sudden change in motion, knocking into her, making her gasp.

“I’m sorry.” Will whispered, using his free hand to push some hair out of her face. She looked back at him, weakening, struggling to maintain eye contact. Will struggled too, but not because of the blood loss.

He felt guilty.

“What’s your name?” He asked, fighting for audibility over the sirens.

“Abigail.”

He felt responsible.

The monitor beeped to life as Brian turned it on, the default display screen flashing on. Will put a new trauma pad against her neck and Brian cut down the front of her shirt. ‘Trauma naked’, Jimmy had told him, clothing removed for access.

“Did you get cut anywhere else?” Will asked her lightly.

Brian stuck the defibrillation paddles to her chest and her side, her heart rate slowing. This was also precautionary; they were preparing for her to go into cardiac arrest. It was inevitable at this point. Will pressed into her more, trying to estimate the amount of time she had left before the blood loss too great.

She didn’t respond.

Abigail’s eyes fluttered shut and the ETA to the hospital felt like a lifetime.

\----

Wheeling into the hospital, it was something like out of TV show.

There were people everywhere; front desk, nurses, doctors, more police, surgery and other name tags Will didn’t have a chance to read. He had his feet on the stationary rail of the bottom of the stretcher, holding onto the railing while he kept pressure to her wound. Brian was holding onto the other side of the stretcher, rhythmically inflating the bag valve mask attached to the tube they ended up putting in her throat.

One of the doctors signaled them as they rounded the corner into the trauma bay, the place where they took the life or death cases. The resuscitation room.

“What do you got?”

“Ok, I have a female, laceration to the throat, involved in incident with police.” Jimmy reported, working to disentangle her from their equipment to move her over to the hospital bed, “She was initially alert, however during transport she became less responsive… we intubated her…” Jimmy’s voice trailed off to garbling, Will transfixed on Abigail’s lifeless expression despite the beeping of her cardiac monitor.

She’s not dead, not yet.

Jimmy was still rattling off vital signs and the other interventions they performed, but all Will could hear was the soft inflate/deflate of the bag valve mask breathing for her.

“Everyone ready to move? On the count of Three…. One, Two, Three.” And Abigail was slid with ease to the hospital bed, the backboard, cot, floor and everything in between covered in an endless slick of blood. Her blood.

Will was steadfast at Abigail’s side, feeling like his manual pressure was the only constant in keeping her connected on this earth.

“I got it.”

Will’s expression damped, fingers slick inside the gloves as he held to her.

“I got it.” Louder this time. The nurse nudged Will out of the way, her hand on top of Will’s, taking over wound management. Taking his place. _But he was responsible_. Brian grabbed Will’s shoulder, pulling him back and out of the scene as Abigail was swarmed by white coats and scrubs.

“It’s better to get out of there and give them their space.” Brian said matter-of-factly, guiding them down the hallway. His hand lingered on Will’s shoulder, gloveless, “You did good.”

Will didn’t have a response.

“Jimmy’s working on the report. It’ll be better to let him handle this one – there’s a lot that’s going to have to go into it. We’re going to be here for a while.”

Will nodded this time, finding the blood-soaked stretcher and backboard at the end of the hallway. He realized he was covered too.

“You look about my size. We have a lieutenant coming by with some extra clothes. I keep a couple spares for shit like this. You’re more than welcome to it.” Brian was surprisingly omniscient and surprisingly courteous.

Will was grateful.

\----

After cleaning up and deconning the unit as best as they could, Jimmy still typing away a novel of a report, Will found himself in the bathroom with the promised change of uniform. He peeled himself out of his work shirt, blood sticking to the undershirt beneath. He ended up taking that off too.

It was everywhere.

Will gave himself a once over, both hands tight onto the ledge of the sink, his reflection in the mirror starring apathetically back at him. He looked like hell. Faucet on, he scrubbed his hands and wrists and forearms clean, fighting to get the stains out from under his finger nails.

It felt like it was futile.

He looked back at himself, bags under his eyes and hair a mess. That couldn’t have been a comforting sight for Abigail; not the best representation of, ‘Hello, I’m here to save your life.’

Will bent and splashed some water on his face.

 _Get it together_.

He redressed into the new shirt, changing over his collar pins and trying to make himself presentable again. All he could think of was her thready pulse in his palm, her life dripping out of his hands.

Exiting the rest room, he carefully put the soiled clothing into a red biohazard bag per Brian’s instruction. Brian was outside waiting, already changed into clean clothes. He was talking to someone, their back turned to Will. White coat, a physician.

They were engaged in conversation when Brian’s head turned to Will. “Here he is.” Brian interrupted, prompting the doc to redirect his gaze.

“Hello, Will.”

Introductory. The doctor was tall, foreign sounding, hand outstretched in Will’s direction. “Brian was telling me about your unfortunate incident. Please allow me formalities; Dr. Hannibal Lector.”

There was an instinct to keep still, something vaguely predatory about Dr. Lector’s attention, scrutinizing. Searching. But Will quickly remembered something important and didn’t shake the doctor’s hand. Hannibal retracted, analytical, filing away Will’s faux paus.

“You’re the medical director for the department, right?” Will said, hoping it didn’t sound as accusatory as it did in his head.

Hannibal nodded, the barest curve at the end of his expression, as if he was pleased. “That I am, yes.”

Brian’s eyes widened. Hannibal may not have been brass, but he was important and had authority, or at least as far as Baltimore was concerned. He was the final say so in functioning as a provider in the city, roundaboutly godlike in his judgements of fit and not fit for practicing.

Will was unimpressed, but curious nontheless.

“Do you know the entire story?” Will continued.

Brian shook his head a ‘you better fucking don’t’ to which Will ignored, against his better judgement, too busy magnetized by the pull of Dr. Lector. There was appropriate conduct in communicating with people like Hannibal, something Brian couldn’t believe the doctor was tolerating, from a rookie no less.

Hannibal seemed in tune to the attention, but able to maintain professionalism. He looked around, as if checking to see if the coast was clear, then sighed. Will pressed him further, unable to look at anything else.

“…It would appear the father found himself in a standoff with police. He used his daughter as a bargaining chip and then played his hand when loss was unavoidable,” Hannibal broke contact, trailing off as if trying to imagine the scene Will was just knee deep in, “I was told there was another body, the mother, found deceased of suspect manner in the upstairs bedroom.”

 _Fuck_.

Will broke away too, his stomach churning at the gravity of what they had walked into. He was just knee deep in a spree murder. Someone’s family, dead. Hannibal regarded him with controlled curiosity, as if Will’s thought process was visible.

There was something interesting about this one, something different.

“Abigail?” Will asked weakly.

“She is alive, thanks in no small part to the quick thinking of you and your partner’s behalf.”

When Will looked up Hannibal was there to meet his gaze. He held it, finding it harder to maintain than he liked to admit. There was a coldness to the doctor, an indifference. But also a spark. Will wondered if that that an honest compliment, or why it even mattered.

Loud, there was suddenly the shrill sounding of a pager, plucking him from his thoughts. Will reacted, realizing it wasn’t anything to do with him. The doctor pulled a small device from his pocket of his immaculate slacks, reading the text notification before offering a polite smile. “My apologies, if you’ll excuse me. No sleep for the weak and weary.”

Brian nodded, courteous, whereas Will stood still, guarded. Hannibal brushed past him, turning around a few paces down the hall, “Brian, if you would forward my contact information to Will I’d be most appreciative. Again, keep up the good work, gentlemen. It was a pleasure.” Another white coat, a female, younger than Hannibal, intercepted him. She was saying something, looking like she had somewhere important to be, and ushered him away.

Will made a face, unsure of what the addendum meant. Versed in the nonverbal, Brian shrugged. “Dr. Lector also has his hands in psychiatrics. He works with the department about employee… _morale_.” The last word sounded like Brian had spent some time choosing the right one. “Stuff like this, the department makes you meet with a shrink and talk about it. Says it cuts down on leave time, people looking for time off and saying they have PTSD.”

Will put together what Brian was saying, shook his head.

“I don’t want it.”

Sighing, “You can’t fight it; we’re all going to have to do it at some point. And trust me, you rather meet with him than some of the other whackos they have working,” Brian conceded, briefly appearing like there was more to add before deciding better of it. More in line with his previous temperament: reserved and short.

Then, out of nowhere.

“Hey, I just got the OK to return to service. Report’s done, you guys ready?” Jimmy was back, visibly tired but still managing to put on a smile.

Will found it admirable.

\----

Jimmy offered Will the option of sitting in the back, saying it might be the only sleep he would get all night. Will refused, forfeiting the option to Jimmy who accepted with minimal prodding. Back in the unit, Brian driving, Will navigating, they were rolling down Orleans Street, the city a quiet shadow of its daytime self.  

Will must have looked like shit; he kept catching Brian giving him measured glances.

“Just tired.” Will explained.

Dispatch was quiet, no radio transmissions in the entire city. Will checked the channel, the right one selected, guessing the city must be finally tucked in for night. Silence, except for wheels on uneven pavement and cool air feeding in through the windows.

“I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do,” Brian started cautiously, concerned almost. He may not have had in as much time as Jimmy, but he’s seen enough to know how things can pile up. “But you should really consider talking to –“

“Watch out!” Will shouted.

The steering wheel jerked in Brian’s hands, skidding and kicking the ambulance into the opposing lane.  They were the only souls out, thankfully, the ambulance stopping in the middle of the street. ‘What the fuck?!’ came from the back, Jimmy nearly thrown from his seat. Brian didn’t realize how tight he was holding onto the steering wheel, trying to formulate just what exactly had Will so spooked.

But Will was fast, disengaging his seatbelt and out the door before any protest. He exited the ambulance, making a visor with his hand to displace the bright of the headlights.

“What are you doing here?” Escaped him, barely a whisper.

It always amazed Will there were deer in Baltimore, but they were confined to mostly the northwest, where there were woods and trees and space for them to hide. But not here, not in the heart of the city where there was more concrete than grass.

But here one was, a stag even, antlers pointed to the stairs, casting a shadow that looked almost terrifying. It was beautiful and disbelieving.

Then it moved, the sound confirming this was really happening. The telltale sound of hooves to which Will was so incredibly familiar.

Will held up his hands, attempting to pacify the animal, hoping to designate himself as not a threat. Then the stag let out a breath, the air cool enough for a slight puff of exhale to be visible from its snout. It took a strong step in Will’s direction, and Will found he couldn’t move.

He didn’t want to.

“Will, what the fuck?” Brian yelled, spinning Will from the encounter. Will was torn between being upset and being grateful at the interruption, turning around to regard the Stag but found it was gone. No noise, no remnants, no evidence left.

Like it hadn’t even been there in the first place.

Brian’s demeanor seemed in agreement that it was not and Will felt like whatever grip he had on the real world was slipping away, leaking between his fingers like Abigail. But it felt so real, it felt just as real as her.

Will committed to the walk of shame back to the unit, pulled himself inside and didn’t say a word. Brian appeared upset, mulling over what exactly to say to his supposed partner. If there was distrust before it became magnified and all Brian could think of was ‘Oh my God, he is fucking crazy.’ Jimmy, however, peeked through the cutout window in the back, found himself much more compassionate.

“What was it, Will?”

Will shook his head and felt pressure behind his eyes like he wanted to cry, a pointless feeling. He let his eyes shut and allowed himself the protection of being unresponsive.

Normal people just don’t go around seeing things that aren’t there. But it felt so real, like Abigail’s dad, dead in the corner. Like Jack’s pride in Will’s first day.

Reflecting back to the stag, Will could see the shine of the street lights on its coat and the reflection of the rig in its eyes, all of it staring back at him. Maybe it was too much or maybe not enough, but Will wasn’t able, not after the events of the day, to properly say just what he did see.

But he figured he might as well try.

“I saw a deer. A big one. It was in the middle of the road… And I know you guys didn’t see it, but I swear it was there.”

It was a confession, one to which Brian nor Jimmy had the faintest idea how to respond. It was the most Will had said the entire shift.

When there was no answer, Will knew that was it. That there be more to this and maybe he’d have to pick up and resettle. Again. He felt wet at his eyes and knew he was only digging the grave deeper, surrendering himself to stare out the passenger’s window. Looking, searching. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to catch the stag out the corner of his eye and make it all OK.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading. if anyone is available to beta, please let me know. i'm terrible with tenses and overlook things and also would like help making sure i'm not going too deep into fire terminology.


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